Tatooine
by BalrogsBreath
Summary: WIP : A small tribute to Owen and Beru Lars and the little known danger and troubles they put themselves through all in the name of one little boy.
1. Part One

A small tribute to Owen and Beru Lars and the little known danger and troubles they put themselves through all in the name of one little boy.

Author: Balrogs Breath/Oro

Rating: PG

Warnings: Spoilers for the first movie, _A New Hope_

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars and make no money from writing this. I do however, own the adventures they encounter.

Summary: A small tribute to Owen and Beru Lars and the little known danger and troubles they put themselves through all in the name of one little boy. Includes: Luke Skywaker's first years, several adventures and just a lot of answered questions.

AN: I don't know much about this, so parts of it may end up being AU, if that is so please forgive me and realize that I am human too.

* * *

The people of Tatooine were strong and resilient in ways only a Corellian could compare to, although a Corellian would never admit to it. They were stubborn too, never admitting they were wrong or backing out on a decision. These traits were arguably good or bad, of course the people of Tatooine would tell you that they were standards the rest of the galaxy should live up to, but the rest of the galaxy couldn't even place Tatooine on a star chart if they were paid. 

As a backwater planet it housed a strange array of races from Hutts to Humans and in-between, an innumerable number of strange things that had either gotten stuck there, were too stupid to leave, or actually enjoyed it.

Among the few who actually enjoyed living on the dusty planet were Beru and Owen Lars. Their mothers and fathers had been moisture farmers, and their mothers and fathers before that as well. In fact, there was no time that either of them could remember, that their family had not been tied up in the moisture farming business. And there was a good market for moisture on a planet that never rained, had no oceans and largest body of water was the sink you washed your good dishes in. Even when Tatooine was predominantly a slave planet, there had been moisture farmers, and as long as there were moisture farmers, they could trace their family back.

The two had been married ten years ago, their anniversary was only two cycles away, and had been enjoying what they had thought as a very successful life. They had a decent amount of money, a good sized farm, enough droids to help out, and they were quite happy together. Sometimes Beru thought Owen was too quiet and stern, and sometimes Owen thought Beru was too soft, but generally they were content. There was nothing startling to speak of, only the set and rise of the two suns changed each day. Things were quiet.

That is, until a certain Obi-Wan Kenobi showed up in the stooped, sand covered doorway that kept their home out of the night wind.

He came in the evening, after all the droids had been shut down, and the lights turned off. The night wind was just beginning to pick up, its eerie howl starting to shift the grains of sand, rolling them gently against each other and creating the screams that defined a Tatooine midnight. He stood on their stoop, hunched over and nearly as dark as the dunes behind him. They didn't notice that he held something in his arms until he was seated down and given a cup of something warm.

Nothing was said for several minutes, and nothing was needed - both parties were remembering, remembering things of years past.

"So where have you been brother?" It was Owen who asked. His hands were clasped around a mug of his own, containing the sought after liquid that was so scarce on this planet. His fingers were sore - it was Tatooine's hottest season and the water evaporated almost as quickly as it was collected, requiring quick work and fast fingers. Beru sat beside him, her fingers equally as stiff. Both of them were silent.

"Here and there," was the response. Obi-Wan sat stiff as well, one arm wrapped around his bundle and the other lifting the mug to his lips.

"Jedi business?"

A nod.

"You missed the wedding."

The Jedi looked at them both apologetically. "It couldn't be helped," he said. "There was a civil outbreak on one of the unstable planets. A diplomat had to be there."

Silence again.

"Why are you here?" Beru sat up in her chair, closer to both her husband and to her brother-in-law. "There must be a reason." She said it politely, making up for Owen's brashness, but the Jedi didn't seem to mind either.

"I have to ask you a favor. A very big favor but you must first understand its significance." The Jedi was tense, poised on the edge of his chair. He knew how important this was, even if they didn't.

Owen was about to open his mouth but Beru stepped on his foot and spoke up first. "We will help in any way we can." There was a firmness to her voice that reminded Obi-Wan of his own mother - a feeble memory of a strong woman with strong hands and sandy hair. She would make a good mother, and he noticed for the first time, that Owen would make a good father as well.

The desert howled outside and only the Jedi seemed unnerved by it.

The bundle moved in his arms.

He unwrapped it slightly, to show tiny little hands and fingers poking out of the dust covered cloth and even more to show a fuzz covered head and two very small blue eyes.

Beru was the first to react, gasping and running over to him, first glaring at him and then scooping the child into her arms and cooing at it. Owen, who was not far behind her, only stared at them with his mouth open. Then something in his mind clicked and he began to back away.

"No, no, no, no!" The younger man sat back down in his chair. "There is no way we are taking in a child!"

Beru took this opportunity to once again step on her husbands foot and glare at him. "No one said we were going to do anything of the sort, I was simply looking at what a beautiful little boy he is." She stopped petting him for a moment to look at Obi-Wan. "Who is he?"

The Jedi sighed and Owen immediately grew uneasy. It was not every day you saw a Jedi-Knight express not only pure emotion, but worry.

"I took a padawon years ago. This is his son." Obi-Wan felt empty without the boy in his arms and had to put himself through several calming techniques to replace his emotionless exterior.

"You and your Jedi ways… keeping a son from his father. Despicable!" Owen paused. Still sitting he looked in the eyes of his brother. "Does that mean he's not a little Jedi? If he was you would keep him wouldn't you?"

Memories shot up, memories that had long ago been buried in the dunes of Tatooine. Years before Owen had been born, Obi-Wan had been taken from their mother. The Jedi had come to their home, requested council with the lady of the house, and taken the force sensitive child. It had long been debated, for years before the name Kenobi had even been heard of, whether the means of spiriting away force sensitive children from their families was humane, but no action had been taken. It was true that the children were given a good life in the care of wise knights, but everyone knew there were failures. Children who couldn't quite keep up, not quite bright enough, or quick enough to compete with the more talented.

Obi-Wan seemed to catch onto his train of though, through force means or not Owen had no knowledge of. "The Order is breaking, if it has not broken already, you know that as well as I do." The Jedi felt remorse for his upcoming statements. He hated lying, though it was necessary to show only a certain point of view for diplomacy purposes quite often, this lie was no easier to spit out then any of the others he had in the past. "But no, he is not a force sensitive. His father is a more complicated matter."

Beru shot him a look that once again reminded him of his few memories of his mother. The look that she gave their older brother when he was caught stealing sugar from the cracked bowl above the doorway. Although she was not nearly as connected to the Jedi as her husband was, she knew their ways from tales. Jedi knights weren't allowed to wed, to have children, or to have a family at all. They were destined to a life alone. She continued to rock the child and smiled when he squealed at her in such a way that only babies can manage. "What about the mother? Why isn't she taking care of him?"

"The mother is dead, and so is the father in a sense."

"In a "sense"?" Owen clutched at his mug harder. He had dealt with Jedi evasion for years now, but when it came to dead or not dead he could hardly see any area for margin. "Either the man is in his grave or he is not!" Beru seemed to agree with him, but stepped on his foot and told him to be quieter or he would disturb the baby. By this time Owen's foot was quite bruised.

Obi-Wan sighed again. This was turning out to be more difficult than he had anticipated. "Would you like me to be frank?"

Both Beru and Owen turned to him, gob struck, but it was Beru that spoke. "It would be nice," she said.

"Alright. My apprentice was Anikin Skywalker, he used to be from Tatooine in fact. I should never have taken him, he was too old and too reckless…" His voice dwindled off and melted with the howls of the desert night. "Needless to say, he went dark."

"So he isn't dead?" It was Beru again, she seemed to have the more common sense.

"No."

The stout woman raised an eyebrow at him and stopped rocking. "Well…"

"He now goes by the name of Darth Vader."

There was silence. The wind screamed, an imitation of their minds, and little wars waged themselves inside of them. Reason against fear, and hate against love they continued, until, after an uncomfortable silence, Beru spoke.

"Well… I see your dilemma." She began to rock the child again, who had begun to cry softly during the quiet. "Are you going to raise him then?"

And Obi-Wan looked at them with pleading eyes for the first time Owen could remember. To him the Jedi had always seemed emotionless, perfect without a fault, to a fault. To see this look in a Jedi's eyes, his brother's eyes, was startling. It startled Beru too, for she shared a quick glance with her husband before setting the child awkwardly in Owen's arms. He stared at it for a moment. It had blue eyes, a common trait of humans who lived on Tatooine, blond hair that was only a fuzzy layer on his tiny head. Little fingers lined equally little hands and arms and he couldn't help but smile. There was undeniably something strange about children that brought out parental feelings in adults.

"I couldn't raise a child, what with the Order crumbling as it is." The look was still in his eyes, just as raw.

Beru stood with her hands on her hips and stared at him. "You want us to take him don't you?"

He nodded and Beru nodded back.

"What about his father? Vader? Are we in danger?"

All pleading left Obi-Wan. "Yes," he said, and it was true. They were in extreme danger, both from Vader himself and the Jedi Order, who had not given him permission to walk out with the child. Only his mother, Padme, had given her consent, and to Obi-Wan, that was all that was needed. "But I will be nearby at all times. All you must do is raise him to be different from his father, keep him safe, and not let him out of your sights."

Beru looked at her husband, who was looking between them and the baby. He glared at them, muttering something along the lines of, "Crazy Jedi," and then looked back to the child and smiled, touching the tiny fingers with his own calloused ones. Beru smiled back at Obi-Wan. "Yes, we will take him in as our own."

Owen, handing off the boy to his wife, asked his brother, "What is his name?"

"Luke, Luke Skywalker."

"Luke Skywalker. It is a fitting name for a moisture farmer," he proclaimed, and Obi-Wan began to laugh.

"And here I thought it sounded more like a pilots name! I should have known better." He continued laughing, and Owen was tempted to join him but decided against it.

"He will not be a pilot if I can help it." Beru nodded her head. "Where are you staying?"

The Jedi smiled softly and began to stand up. "I have a place in the wastes."

"The wastes! Do you have a speeder?" Owen, now baby free, stood up as well.

"No but I can use the exercise."

"You can't be leaving now! It is freezing out! You must stay the night." But despite the firmness in Beru's voice, Obi-Wan made for the door, looking exactly the same as when he had come in, only now without a child in his arms.

"I'm afraid not, Beru, I really must be going." He shook hands with his brother, a formal goodbye since they had long ago lost all the joys of being friends and brothers, and kissed Beru on the cheek, before opening the door to the cold of the desert and walking out.

Owen shut the door.

They both sat down, poured each other another glass of water and listened to both the wails of the night and the sounds of their new child.

"It is strange," Owen finally said, "I never thought I would have a son…"

Beru smiled sadly at him. "He is not truly ours though. We will love him as a mother and father, but he will only love us as an uncle and aunt." She stated into the face of Luke Skywalker, who was by now gracefully asleep. She said his name out loud, once to herself and then once to her husband. "Its not a moisture farmer's name you know."

"I know."

Another silence settled in before it was broken by a yawn first made by Beru, but soon followed by another from Owen.

Silence came again.

"What do we do now?" Beru looked between her son, her nephew she reminded herself, and her husband. "We don't have a baby room."

Owen looked up at her. "You're right." He stood up and rummaged around, pulling out a basket and extra bedding he made a make-shift crib. "Will this do?"

Beru smiled at him, placed Luke gently in his bed and kissed her husband briefly. "It's perfect," she said.

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Alrighty then! That is the end of part one of my fic. This is not the end. Please keep in mind this is my first Star Wars fic and I can use all the support you can give. 

Also: Updates are not a set thing, I post them when I feel like it. I may be influenced by reviews though. I have another five pages written, but please, tell me what you think should happen, and what you want to see.


	2. Part Two

Alright: here is part two of 'Tatooine'. If you need to see the disclaimer or story summary, please see part one.

Reviewers: k00lgirl1808 - "wouldn't Owen and Brue be Fimler with Anikin Skywalker as Owens Father Married Anikins Mother as his seound wife."

Thank you for your concern in the story, but as I said in part one, I don't know much about the early periods of Star Wars. If your information is correct, than please consider this to be AU. Also, it would help if you made your reviews a little clearer, I had trouble understanding what you were saying.

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It was hard work raising Luke. Harder than either of them had imagined.

They had stumbled past the first few weeks with the help of the Darklighters', who had four children of their own and another on her way. The neighboring family had been kind enough not to ask questions as to where the boy had come from, and by the time Luke was a year old, it was generally accepted that he was a nephew. But of course even the communities of moisture farmers had their bad eggs, and one man in particular had his heart set at destroying the Lars family.

"You shouldn't steal children, Beru, who knows who will come back for him," Wilkes, the wrinkly old man that lived on the Farrows' homestead said to her one day when she was buying the weeks load of Otolla. No one liked him, not even the Farrows, who waited eagerly for him to die - although he never seemed to. It was common gossip among the women, who would often congregate in their free time, that he was a fallen Jedi, exiled from the Order because of his treachery. The tales had sprouted there, giving stories of his murders and rapes as well as treason. Wiles, opposite of most men, wallowed in his infamy and actually encouraged the whispers to continue, feeding into the line of stories with his own flavors.

But he upset Beru none the less, not for his talked about atrocities, but for the closeness his remarks hit home. What if Vader did know about Luke? What if he wanted him back? The questions were always on her mind. She told Owen about her concerns, but he had only kissed her on the cheek and told her not to worry.

She was alone in the shop, a filthy place filled with vegetables of varying colors and ages, but mostly of the same species. Wilkes, the owner of the shop - another reason the Farrows family wanted him to die quickly - watched her, his eyes darting from her to the child like a Kwat dragon.

Beru, with Luke slung to her chest in a Baby-Bag, picked up another Otolla. They were useful plants, among the only that grew successfully on the planet. They didn't have much taste, but they filled you up quickly. Setting the oval shaped plant next to its brothers she paid Wilkes quickly and turned to leave.

"You wont be safe forever." His voice was not unlike his skin, cracked and old, but it still held power.

He was a greedy man, all the people of Tatooine were, though they didn't admit it. His white and red hair was slimy despite its exposure to the sun and his skin broken and rough. It was not his looks that were particularly displeasing though, but his personality. All day he would sit in the grimy window of his shop watch people, scornfully spitting at them through the doorway if they dared pass by his walk. He hated nearly everyone for reasons that were purely his own and was not afraid to admit it. The one thing Beru found less frightening of him, was the fact that he was not a supporter of the Empire, also for reasons that were purely his own. No one in Anchor-Head or its adjoining farms knew quite what had happened to the old man, only that it was too terrible for even the women to gossip about.

Beru slipped her bag of vegetables over her shoulder and onto her back, keeping the lumps a safe distance from the infant Luke. She said nothing to him and opened the door, heading out into the almost intolerable heat of the desert day.

Tatooine was not, contrary to the belief of the few who had heard of it elsewhere in the galaxy, a hot dust bowl of brown sand, but a complex ecosystem of its own. There were hot seasons where both suns were almost always present leaving only a few hours of dark every forty hours or so and a cold season when both suns were scarce, leaving the planet in a cold darkness for days at a time. Of course with their solar plan, these seasons only occurred every fifty years or so, but the people of Tatooine were currently experiencing one of the worst hot seasons in years.

Droughts, worse than the everyday drought that was life on the planet, were common and many moisture farmers struggled to produce even meager amounts of the precious liquid. Droids malfunctioned in the unconditional heat and death was not uncommon despite their rugged conditioning for it.

The hot season was also when the Tusken Raiders struck the worst.

Not much was known about them, even to the savvy people of Tatooine. Their settlements were avoided and their culture forgotten. Even their language was a mystery. It was known, though, that they were old, older than the moisture farmers, older than the Hutts, and older than even the prehistoric-like Jawas. It was rumored, among the men mostly this time, that they were from the original Tatooine - before it was a desert. It was a hard concept to imagine, but before dunes lined the horizon, trees used to. Oceans and expanses of water shifted not unlike the sand in the heat of the day and the wind created waves of water, not dust. Things had changed though, and jungle the planet was no more, let only with sand.

Beru, only twenty-nine, was perfectly aware of all these dangers, as any sane Tatooine inhabitant would be, and hurried home as quickly as possible. She pulled her white scarf over her head and shaded Luke as best she could.

The scarf had been a gift from her father, a last farewell to his third daughter as she and Owen placed the woven crowns on each others heads. It wasn't much, but he had told her it was from Alderaan, even if it wasn't true, and she had thanked him for it.

Dust covered feet took her home faster then she had thought possible, and soon she was in her house again, pulling off her outer shoes and placing on the cloth booties worn inside the house. She fed Luke his formula - based off of milk, Otolla, and water - in silence, a thing that seemed to come from the house much of the time. Luke, on the other hand, preferred not to be silent at all, and as soon as he was set down he began to scream and wail in such ways even the desert could not imitate.

She tried for a long time to quiet him, rocking him back and forth, speaking to him and changing his under-cloths before settling on telling him a story. She set the child back against her chest and began to speak.

"Many people who have come to Tatooine have wondered why the desert screams every night." Beru stopped. She was tempted to scientifically explain how the grains of sand rolled against each other when the wind picked up but decided against it. This was a children's story, she told herself.

"You see, the desert has a name, she is called Totoreoro, for her golden complexion. Totoreoro was born from the death of her mother and father, the Ocean, Fracelt, and the Jungle, Foretot, in a fiery moment of the worlds. And in their place, she existed.

"One of her first friends were the lovers, the suns. They were called Reos and Rinos, and were always together. In the first moments of Totoreoro's life the three of them became fast friends, playing together and working together to create the world we know now.

"But Totoreoro had a brother, whom is often forgotten in the tales. He was wind, named Nimaru for his love of speed, and also loved the suns. Together they would create the hot breezes that we can still feel today if we walk outside.

"But just as soon as the brother and sister and the lovers had become friends, the suns were whisked away by night, Nihal, the only evil thing that survived the death of Fracelt and Foretot, the ocean and the Jungle.

"Nihal, Reos and Rinos battled on for a very long time, and in their absence the wind and the desert cried together - the wind pushing the sand and the sand screaming and moaning.

"But, very soon, the suns began to win the battle, climbing upwards in the sky until they could be seen again and Totoreoro and Nimaru stopped their sand tears and were happy.

"But, every so often Nihal comes back and wages war against the suns and Totoreoro and Nimaru once again begin to cry.

"And that is why the desert screams at night."

Luke, by some small desert miracle, had stopped crying also and Beru breathed a sigh of relief. The boy seemed to have fallen asleep near the end of the story and was still laying in it blissfully. As much as she loved him, there was only so much screaming and crying a mother - aunt, she reminded herself - could take. She held him for a few minutes, watching him breathe.

It was when she was setting him down in the borrowed crib that she heard the noise first.

It was a howl first, not unlike the night screams. But it wasn't night, and the howl was not identical. Night screams were almost soothing, a reliable sound that was a lullaby to the people of Tatooine. It was impossible to replicate and any Tatooine inhabitant, child or adult, felt its absence when he or she left.

But this was not the desert screams. It was harder, faster and more aggressive and the sand didn't cooperate with the wind, it was driven by it.

It was almost impossible to hear at first, white noise in Luke's absent cries.

And then it grew.

Beru moved from Luke's room which joined their own, to the front of the house. Sand began to seep in through he walls, sifting restlessly once it hit the floor. The smallest particles of dust continued to come and Beru remembered.

She had heard this howl before, it was a legend not unlike the one she had just told to Luke, but she had witnessed its reality when she was young.

She and her father had been working on the heat generators - they always malfunctioned in the hot season. She was eleven. They had spent the afternoon, in the shade of the Friga tree that grew on every moisture farm, rejoining circuits and redirecting the power couplings to make room for the sweltering heat that melted leads and wires. The second sun was just passing overhead when they first heard it.

It whooshed, exactly like it was now, almost silent at first, then growing… and growing until it seemed it would burst your ears. And then she had seen it. Her eyes were younger and faster than her fathers and she had spotted it before he had. It was a wall. A wall of pure sand, the deserts agony washed into one tangible, destructive force.

Her father, who was twenty years older than she was now, had looked at it, not saying a word. He stared as it approached, aged blue eyes frozen in fear. It took him ten whole seconds to fly into motion. He stood up, stumbling in the shifting sand, swept her up into his big arms and ran.

It was the first time she had seen her father truly fear. Yes, he had often worn a frown when the water wasn't flowing or the droids were malfunctioning worse than usual, but no fear had ever penetrated his dust worn face. To see it frightened her, but to see the wall of sand frightened her more.

There were tales, plenty of them, that told of the horrors of the deserts anger, how when it was too hot for even her to manage her anger and frustration were released in a wave of the largest grains of sand. Stories of its destruction rose, of how beautiful it looked but how deadly. It happened every few cycles, it was said, but only once on the entirety of the planet, so the likely hood that you would see it in your life time, witness its power, was unlikely.

But she had seen it, seen it sweep away the lesser built houses. Their equipment, they had watched fly away, trapped in an almost airless vacuum of dust. Droids flew, speeders were picked up off the ground faster than they had ever flown before. Even people, caught unawares or simply too dumb or frightened to take suitable shelter. Madam Horrais, an energetic worker but often lacking in the smarts, was swept along with her dewback caught in the wastes. She was found three days later on a roof in Mos Eisle.

Needless to say, when Beru heard this sound, growing faster and faster in her ears, she ran. She ran back to Luke who had woken in the noise and pulled his crib into the cellar - which was not at all a cellar really, but a cabinet of sorts in the floor of the kitchen - fitted it with a sand-proof screen, and rushed to put back on her outer shoes.

Beru wasn't a particularly brave woman, compared to all the Sith and Jedi women in the galaxy, but when it came to her family, which had recently grown by its smallest member, she was quite protective. The idea that Owen could be out there, a soon to be Madam Horrais on a roof in Mos Eisle, made her almost sick.

The dust continued to seep through the walls, spilling onto the piles of its brethren as she walked to the door. Clouds of it mushroomed above the cracks and the sifting little squeaks of it almost rivaled the roar of the wall itself.

She was five feet from the door now, four feet, three feet. She did not want to open the plaster barrier, the only thing keeping her out of the storm. As well as protective streak, she had an overpowering trend for self-preservation.

But her struggle against fear and love was interrupted as a great knocking, muffled by the sound of the wind, came from the door.

She stood there, frozen, not unlike her father had stood staring at the storm when he had first seen it, before racing the last three feet to its handle and swinging it open, letting in a great blast of hard dust and wind.

As well as two figures, covered head to toe in the golden kernels that ruled the planet.

They stepped in quickly, allowing her to shut the door - which took nearly all of her Tatooine might - and the first figure, whom she now recognized to be Owen, stepped forward. "Beru," he started, his voice sounding like the winds and almost hidden by its own yelling. But Beru didn't let him finish, instead she gave him a firm scolding and stepped on his foot - a habit that seemed to be growing.

Owen had the kindness to look reprimanded and continued bashfully. "Wilkes' store is gone. He will have to stay with us until it is over." There was no explanation needed for where exactly his store had disappeared to.

The figure behind Owen - now identified as Wilkes - stepped forward. He, unlike the younger moisture farmer, had not brushed the sand off of his face and his only distinguishable features were his slightly visible red hair and the startling green eyes that glared at her. They, unlike the rest of him, had not been lessened with age.

He said nothing to them as Beru led them to the kitchen through the howls of the storm. It was the sturdiest place in the house, they had decided, and the woman had scooped Luke up into her arms as soon as a moment to do so arose.

They sat there for a very long time, none of them looking the others in the eyes and Owen and Beru nervously passing Luke between them. The child was, by some strange fluke, quite quiet.

Wilkes was the first one to speak, his old voice lifting over the sounds of the storm. "How old is he, that little devil of yours?"

She and Owen shared a look before he answered. "Nearly four cycles." He was holding Luke as he spoke, and held the child protectively to his chest.

Wilkes grunted in response and returned to watching the sand pile at the bottom of the cracks in the walls.

The silence once again descended, only it wasn't really silence, for the almost pain filled screams of the desert in storm howled against their ears, causing an unease in their hearts.

Wilkes lifted his eyes and stared at Luke again. His forehead creased and left his eyes dimmed. "I remember what…" He stopped and shook his head. "I don't know where you got that thing Beru, but they will take it from you." His brow creased even further until his dust covered eyebrows bent over his green globes. "They always take them… It used to be the Order, but now it's the Empire."

Beru and Owen stared wide eyed at their visitor but said nothing.

"They always take what they can use, and they can use the force."

Now the new parents' jaws had dropped, causing Wilkes to glare at them. Owen, who was always quick to protect his family, bristled and gave Luke back to Beru. "Our Luke is not a Jedi," he began, but Wilkes just snorted.

"Don't be naïve, of course he is. Why did you think he was here, with you of all people? The Jedi, the Empire, they aren't so different from each other. Both kill, both steal, both maim, both hunt, the distinction is pointless."

It was at this point in time that Beru began to wonder if the old man had been drinking. That was one of the many rumors floating around about him and perhaps one of the truer. In fact, she could smell something on his breath, other than dust. Maybe-

"But no one does anything! No one notices how powerful they become until it is too late, no one notices the armies they build until they have destroyed each other, no one notices the babies they steal until they are already grown!"

At this Owen and Beru blinked.

"What do you mean-"

"Took my own daughter, the Jedi Order did, and now I hear that my grand child has been stolen by the Empire!"

Owen, still holding Luke, shifted the child in his arms and stared at Wilkes openly. "Your child was stolen?"

"Yes! The beloved Order of yours came in the night, unlocked our door with that confounded 'force' of theirs and took her!"

Beru spoke up, smoothing her skirt idly, "Surely they must have asked you…before taking her…"

"You give the fiends too much credit!" Wilkes green eyes flashed brilliantly and his hands shook as he waved them about his head. "They took my little girl, she was only a half a cycle old and they took her! She had the prettiest little eyes and little tufts of red hair… and they took her! To train her as a Jedi, to make her a 'savior of the galaxy'."

Owen rocked Luke back and forth and up and down wondering with his brown creased if that was how his mother felt… if that was how nearly everyone felt.

But Wilkes was not finished. He raised his wind worn hands up again and battled his own voice against the still raging wind, "But that was not so bad. I could survive, and I did. I lived on many different planets, different worlds and I survived. I never had another daughter mind you, but I lived. And now, my beloved child is dead and her only living girl now under the care of the Empire. The next you will know of my grandchild is of her murders and her bright red hair…"

Beru fiddled so more with her skirt before taking Luke out of Owen's arms and back into her own.

Wilkes spit on to the floor, his saliva mingling slowly with the grains of sand, darkening them before slipping beneath to the floor. "Its not the order you have to worry about any more though, they are dieing faster than Jawas on hunting day. It is the Empire that you have got to watch for. They are growing more and more powerful, pretty soon, there won't be an Order at all, just the Empire, and I can assure you, they wont let something as useful as that child left unspoiled." Wilkes spit again.

"As we told you before, Luke isn't a Jedi, he never will be a Jedi…"

Wilkes eyes flashed again and he glared at them. "If I can tell, anyone can. That devil boy of yours is no moisture farmer and he never will be."

* * *

Well, that concludes part two of 'Tatooine'. Once again, seeing as this is my first Star Wars fic, anything you have to say to me will be well recieved.

Thank you for reading.


	3. Part Three

Alrighty then! Here is Part Three of 'Tatooine'.

Reviewers: k00lgirl1808 - "This is Getting really good, I like the whole history of the planete."

Thank you for the review! I am glad you are enjoying the fic.

* * *

Wilkes had left later that night, when the winds had died down into nearly nothing and Beru and Owen sat down and talked. It was the first good talk they had had since Luke had come to them, and it was well deserved.

They had put Luke to bed, walked into the kitchen and poured themselves a glass of Otolla milk and spoke, at long, of things.

First they spoke of Luke, how he had grown and how beautiful his little eyes were. And then they spoke of who he was, who his father was, and what the chance of Luke staying with them was. And then the spoke of themselves.

And when they were done speaking it was nearly morning, the tip of the first sun was rising over the wastes and the unearthly glow of lighted sand washed over them.

Life as moisture farmers was hard work. From the moment the second sun eased its way above the dunes the were working, setting up the power cables that couldn't be left out at night, reattaching lines and empting vats of dirty, dust water. After the water had been pumped from the low levels of the sand and the air, it had to be cleaned through a series of filters which by itself was a very labor intensive job.

Each Moisture Farm had a large area from which they could draw out the water, and the Lars farm was not small. Each day, before the suns rose too far and all their hard earned water evaporated, they had to check and collect each vat within their twenty mile radius farm. Most farmers only had dewbacks to help them, but the Lars family was well enough off to own one speeder and a series of droids. Of course after the water was successfully withdrawn, each and every vat had to be replaced in the ground, several meters away from yesterdays spot so not to over use the ever decreasing water supply.

It was a daily routine that had driven their lives since childhood and before. Ever since their first breath they had tasted the water in the soil, tasted it in the air, and ever since the were old enough to walk, they had taken pride in driving it out of its hiding places and into the vats.

They were moisture farmers, they were proud, strong people. But they were not fearless. They feared, more than anything else, change.

For generations upon generations upon generations the only change they had seen was new models of droids, flashes of distant politics of sand filled screens and holo monitors and the ever increasing number of Storm Troopers based on the dust planet.

But no direct change. Nothing that influenced their personal and simple lives. Yes, rugged and ruff cities such as Mos Eisle had their new things, pod racing, slavery, prostitution, but the land of the moisture farmers was left untouched by the new civilization, left untouched by Jedi and Sith alike.

But this… Luke…it made things different. It made for change. And change was something Owen and Beru were afraid of. It made for messy business, change did, and was best avoided in most situations. So they hid from it. Twenty-nine year-old Owen and Beru Lars hid from change. They reared Luke not as a Jedi, but as a moisture farmer, as a safe boy, who would live out his days in the dusty outbacks of Tatooine. Where no Sith would find him, where no space battle would kill him, and where no child would die.

By the time his first cycle on Tatooine came to a close, the new parents had fallen in love with Luke, and by the time his fifth had come to pass, he was a sure part of their family. He started to walk in his eighth cycle and talking, if only in small, useless words, was soon to follow. He always had a smile on his face, and his tufts of white blonde hair and his sky blue eyes made him look just like a normal boy from Tatooine. Just like a moisture farmer.

Right from the start they had began teaching him of their life, of farming, or water and of the desert. They had also told him that they were his aunt and his uncle. It had pained both of them to say that. To tell their beautiful little boy that they weren't his parents, that they would never be, that his parents were dead. But it was for the best, they had decided. As much as they wished Luke to be their own child, he wasn't, but he wasn't Vader's either, not if they had anything to do with it, so they concocted an intricate lie.

Luke's father, or so they told him, was a space trader, that had died suddenly in an accident. They never told him much about his mother, only that she was beautiful and was also dead.

But Luke, much as it pained them at times, was a very inquisitive little boy, and by the time he stared his education he felt he had a right to know everything. And Owen and Beru supposed he did. They let on little details, little lies to satisfy his curiosity, but never told him too much.

Once he asked what his mother looked like. They told him she was very beautiful, slender and had the prettiest hair anyone had ever seen. He had her eyes, they would tell him, but he had his fathers hair. Hers was darker.

They would take careful note of their lies, recording them within their minds in a methodical, and rehearsed way so they would never be caught saying something wrong.

And so it was that when Luke was starting his second year of primary education he asked another question.

"Aunty Beru, why did my parents die?" Luke was no taller than the waistband of Owen's trousers and the locks of hair that lay on his head seemed to whiten with each year.

Beru slipped his arms through his school pack and ruffled his hair. "Everyone has to die, Luke darling. Even us and you some day."

Luke pouted at her with his blue eyes and turned to look at her. "But why did they have to die before I could know them?" With the overly large school pack firmly attacked to his back he looked even smaller than ever.

Beru, suddenly overcome with the urge to pull the boy into a hug, knelt down to look him in the eyes. "Your parents loved you very much Luke, they loved you even more than the stars themselves. If there is one thing you should know, it is that."

That seemed to satisfy the boy and he gave her a lop sided smile. "When are we going to school? That Madam Berch doesn't like me at all, and she will get very mad if I am late again." All too late he realized the mistake of his words and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Luke…" Beru admonished, taking the mother position fully, "you have been late before?"

Luke looked downwards and shifted his feet. There was one thing he wasn't good at, and that was lying. He could beat any of the larger boys in a race, out do them in a speeder, but while the older children could lie to their guardians, Luke could not. "Yeah…" he mumbled, and lifted his blue eyes up to her. "I was late twice. But me and Biggs weren't doing anything bad, we were just playing. Your not mad are you?"

"No, Luke, I'm not mad." And Beru wasn't. But a surrogate mother she was, and the admonishing had to be done. "But you shouldn't be late again, you boys can play all you want after school, until we need you for harvest of course."

The two of them took off their indoor over shoes and stepped out into the heat of the morning.

The thing that startled most of the new comers of Tatooine was the similarity of each day to the next. There was no change in the clouds since there were none, and the temperature was the same day to day: cool in the morning, blistering in the day, and cold as hell in the night. Nothing changed, and for the people of Tatooine, that was good.

This particular morning though, was not quite the same as the rest. Where most of Tatooine's early hours were brisk and sharp, this one was muggy. The air was damp, extremely damp, and Luke froze as soon as he passed through the door way.

"Luke, what's wrong?" Beru asked, although she herself knew something was. No morning was like this without reason.

"Things feel weird, Aunty Beru, really weird," Luke said and Beru had to look at him again.

Words came back to her, Obi-Wan's promise that Luke was not a little Jedi, Wilkes proclamation that he was. And Beru frowned.

"I don't think we should go to school today, I really don't… Aunty Beru, something is wrong."

Beru, in a moment of over protectiveness, scooped Luke up into her arms and set him on her hip. "I know, Luke, I know." Beru was worried. She had never, in all her married life or otherwise, seen this phenomena before. Part of her was ecstatic. The amount of water they would be able to draw from the air would be unprecedented! The vats would need to be changed at least twice! But the rest of her, the majority of her, was afraid. This was new. This was change.

"You go inside, Luke, I'm going to find your Uncle." Luke, thankfully, complied and slipped the over shoes back on his small feet.

Owen was in the garage, which lay directly to the left and under their house, and when he heard her come in he looked up. "Beru?"

"Have you been outside yet today, Owen?" Her hands, her hard, worn, workers hands, were ringing her blue skirt in a habit that clearly associated 'fear'.

"No." His eyes bored into her own and she motioned for him to follow her. Three sets of blue eyes met each other in the hall and three sets of eyes pulled off their over shoes and stepped in the damp, muggy morning.

And Owen blinked. Even the sand and dust beneath their feet was soft with wetness, soft with water, soft with wealth. His eyes widened and he turned around slowly to face his wife.

"Beru," he started, his voice uncommonly quiet, "This is wonderful… all this water…" He seemed at a loss for words, but Beru continued to stare at him.

"But Uncle Owen, it feels wrong."

Owen smiled lovingly at his son. No, he corrected himself, his nephew. "It feels wrong because it is different, that is all. But this is wonderful! Beru, start up the speeder, we have got to change the vats!"

Beru gave one last look at Luke and her husband before nodding sternly at both of them and rushing off to start the speeder.

"This is a miracle! The water, it is everywhere!" Owen lifted Luke up and twirled him around before finally setting him down on his shoulders. Luke, from his perch, called down to his Uncle, "So this isn't bad?"

"No Luke, this isn't bad at all. After today will have to make a special trip into Anchor Head just to sell all this water. We might even be able to buy another droid!" He spun around, drawing out a happy giggle from Luke. "You like droids don't you Luke? What kind are your favorite?"

Luke pulled on Owens hair, a slightly darker shade of his own blonde, before giggling again and responding with, "Asteroid droids!"

"Maybe, but those aren't really designed for the desert, they were really made for space ships. How about a-"

"But I like space ships!"

Owen stopped spinning. The air suddenly seemed much too damp for his hardened sand lungs. "You don't mean that, do you Luke?"

"What, about the space ships? Of course I do! Space ships are cool!"

Owen pulled Luke off his shoulders and set him down in front of him, staring into his eyes. "Now you listen here, Luke, space ships aren't things you, or any other boy should think about. You've got more important things to worry about, like helping me and your aunt get all of this miracle water out of the vats. Do you understand that?"

"Yes Uncle Owen. But do you think one day, I could be a pilot? When I'm bigger of course." Luke looked at him so earnestly that all of Owen's speeches on moisture farming and how nothing as silly as being a spacer was needed, fell out of his mouth and all that was left was a simple, "Maybe someday Luke, maybe someday."

* * *

It was five hours later that they were finally complete with the emptying of the moisture vats and by the sixth hour they had all been replaced in order so that they could be emptied a second time that day.

Owen hefted the last of the vats, large, metallic containers that weighed more than Luke, into the ground in its new location. Their work was finally complete and they could finally see what their efforts had born.

It was a common superstition among moisture farmers, not to see your water until the last of it has been collected, else it all might evaporate before your eyes. But it was not one to be held lightly, and the Lars family obeyed it well. The three of them peered into the tank in the back of the speeder and gasped collectively when Beru read aloud the marking on the side wall.

"Fourteen."

"Fourteen, did you hear that Luke? Fourteen! That is a weeks worth of water! All in one afternoon too! I'll bet we can get twice that much tonight too!" Owen kissed Luke on the forehead and Beru on the lips before repeating the number several more times to himself.

Beru herself was glowing. She had been a moisture farmer for just as long as her husband and knew the implications of that seemingly simple number. It meant that when the cold season finally came, as it was due to in about twenty years, they would have to worry less. Not much less, mind you, but with Luke there, anything helped.

In the fridged years of the cold season the sand was hard and the water even harder to draw from it. The air was frozen and the only moisture you could draw from it was your own breath. This was the time when even the suns ran, leaving the fragile humans alone. Any and all extra wealth made in the hot season was saved to make the cold one more bearable, and if your generation did not see it, you saved it for your children. Just as they were saving it for Luke, when the cold season met him. He would be as old as they were now, and would probably have many children, but he would have something, at least, from them.

And then, the last vat in place, they heard a scream that did not belong solely to the desert. The scream was amplified by the canyons around them and repeated several more times.

Luke let out a cry of his own, and pressed his hands over his ears before scooting under the seat of the speeder.

Owen and Beru's reaction was quiet different.

They looked each other in the eyes, Tatooine blue met Tatooine blue and they leapt to the vehicle, starting it up with pounding hearts.

They knew this sound all too well.

It was the scream of the Tusken Raiders.

* * *

Hehe... don't kill me, please.

Alright, there ends part three of 'Tatooine'. Please leave me a review saying what you think, every letter will be appreciated, I assure you.


	4. Part Four

In light of the semi "Cliffhanger" of last chapter I will try to keep it short.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Summary: See Chapter One

Reviewer Replies: (You guys took the time to say something, so I feel I've got to at least thank you for your time - if not bow to you and answer your questions )

Okanabe: Thank you! I haven't read your story yet, but as soon as I get the chance I will head on over. Hehe… I will also leave a review n.n You now hold the record for longest review left.

Stocktonwood: Aw! I also think little Luke is very huggable n.n Thank you so much for your suportive words - this review meant a lot to me!

Gatermage: Hehe! Right you are! Wilkes is Mara's grandfather! Thank you for your review!

Huggles everyone! Thanks for the reviews guys!

Oh: As I said before, if parts of it become AU, then parts of it become AU, I'm not trying to write an exact history as George Lucas would see it, but _life_, as the people of Tatooine, would see it.

* * *

The speeder would not start.

Beru jammed the ignition button with her thumb rapidly until she forgot to breathe and began jamming it again.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…" Owen was sitting in the passenger seat with Luke pulled into his lap. The boy was clutching Owen so hard it was amazing he could speak at all.

Another scream of a Tusken Raider brought all three of their heads shooting upwards, this time to the left.

Beru drew in a shaky breath before rushing out of the speeder, her blue skirts in a tangle, and opening up the rusted side panel. "Owen," She shouted in a panicked voice, "try the ignition when I tell you to!"

The farm woman's fingers flew quickly through the mess of wires that existed in the interior of the speeder, carefully but efficiently choosing several she pulled them out and reconnected them with others. "Owen!"

Owen, Luke still a ball in his lap, shoved his thumb into the button and gave out a cry of happiness when the red speeder gave a sign of life. "Its working, Beru, its working!"

And then all happiness left Owen in a flash.

Seven, bandaged heads popped over the edge of the canyon, soon followed by seven, wrapped up bodies, each holding onto a deadly, blunt force weapon.

"Beru!"

"Owen!"

Their cries were nothing against those of the Tusken Raiders.

The desert monsters lifted their weapons above their heads and screamed in unison for all of Tatooine to hear.

And then Owen froze. He turned to Beru, who was still positioned outside the speeder, and their eyes met.

"The water, the moisture… Beru, they want the moisture!"

And then they ran, the speeder abandoned and Luke slung about Owen's neck.

The Lars were not stupid people, they new more about the desert than the desert knew about them, and the tricks of the land were a familiarity. It was mid-day, the two suns were both over head and the worst heat could be felt, was felt. Fear wormed through their veins and all they knew was the air that funneled through their mouths and the Tusken Raiders behind them.

They continued running, throats raw from the grainy, wet air, until there were no more shapes dancing in their peripheral vision. Until they were sure that the only screams they could hear was the wind between their teeth and the blood pumping over their ears.

And when they finally stopped, collapsing into the dust, Luke slid off of Owen and crawled into Beru's lap. All was quiet.

Luke looked up at Beru, his normally clear blue eyes a puffed red and with a watery shine. "Auntie Beru," he said, his voice cracking, "I don't want to do that ever again!"

Beru looked at him for a moment before smiling and letting out a laugh of pure exhaustion. "I'll tell you a secret, Luke. Neither do I."

Owen looked down at his hands. They were sweaty, dampened by the strange air. "We were fools," he said his voice thick, "Such fools. We weren't even looking for them!" He slammed his fist against the hard packed sand and little tufts of wet sand sprayed up.

Luke looked up at his uncle and as their eyes met Luke let out a horse, sobbing cry and once again buried his hands against his ears and tucked himself into Beru.

The air resonated with his sobs. Large, gulping pants and attempted consoling of both surrogate parents were the only interruptions.

"Come, Luke, I didn't mean to be angry, I'm very sorry."

"See, Uncle Owen didn't try to be mad. Please stop crying, Luke."

"Shush.. Luke, Shush everything is fine now. The Raiders are gone now!"

"Yes, we can go home. Do you want to go home?"

And with a ragged breath, the sobs ended. Luke pealed himself off of Beru and nodded solemnly. "Yes, I want to go home now."

"Go to sleep, Luke, we'll carry you," Owen said, and Luke, exhausted, complied and was picked up by his Uncle. The two waited until the child's breathing had evened out before sharing a worried expression.

Beru sighed and pressed her own sweaty hands to her blue skirt. She kept here eyes lowered. "We are in the Wastes, Owen. The Wastes." Her voice shook.

"Yes." His own voice quivered in a fashion that was very unbecoming to the two hard people.

"That's at least sixteen Clicks, at least sixteen, to the farm. With no water."

"Yes."

"Luke…!"

"I know, Beru, I know."

They were silent. Only Luke's steady, child - like, puffs of air and their own unsteady ones interrupted it.

"There is another option…" Own said hesitantly, "One that makes me cringe."

Beru looked from him to Luke before sighing loudly. "We have no choice, Owen. Its that or his life, and that isn't a choice at all."

"I know… but I had hoped…," the man said heavily," that the boy wouldn't have to know him."

Beru reached a wet palm and touched her husbands wet face. "There is no choice, Owen. We must go to your brother."

* * *

The twin Tatooine suns climbed over them, slinking steadily upwards and then falling just as carefully. Both moved simultaneously, gracefully, through the sky, providing death to the dumb and life to those who were savvy to their ways. Hours had past since Luke had fallen asleep and the suns were past them, glaring ominously into the dunes of the Wastes.

They had stopped once, and Luke was carefully removed from Owen's sweaty back and situated on Beru's equally damp one. With tiny legs through her elbows, they moved again - walking painfully - slowly - to the corner of the Wastes where a certain 'Kenobi' took up residence.

"Why that name? OD all the names they could give him, why did the bastards give him something so foreign, so far from his own?" Owen asked suddenly, the blistering heat and overly wet air fraying his fear ridden nerves.

Beru looked at him calmly. She had no answer for him, but she spoke anyway, giving him at least the comfort of human voice. "He is still your brother, Owen, by blood if nothing else." It was a subtle hint, a prod at his sense of justice.

Owen exhaled quickly. "Only by blood, Beru, only by blood! I have seen him no more than five times and all he asks of us are favors!"

Beru looked sharply at him, quicken her pace, and stepped forcefully on his foot making the man stumble. "Don't be stupid, Owen, he gave us a gift like none other!"

"Yes! But only to save himself the hassle! What would he have done if we weren't here? Raised the child on his own, I tell you."

"Yes, raised Luke to his death!"

They both fell silent.

They walked until the suns had ceased touching the tips of the dunes and had plunged beneath them before stopping again and switching Luke.

"Are you tired, Beru?"

"Yes, but we can't stop now, you know that." She touched his face and smiled. "But thank you."

"I love you, Beru."

"And I love you too, Owen. That hasn't changed for ten years and its not likely to change now, so stop that senseless worrying!"

Owen smirked at her. "Why?"

"Don't make me step on your foot again, Owen, if I knew why I loved you I'd have quite a few less lines across my face!"

"No, Beru, why didn't we have a child?"

The air around them froze.

"We can't, Owen," Beru said to him softly, "We've tried. Many, many times."

Owen leaned in and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I know that, my sweat, but why didn't we adopt? If I had known this was what children were like I would have begged you to get us at least five!"

And the air melted. Double laughs rang out and the walking - the painfully slow walking - continued.

* * *

By the time even the faintest glow of the second sun had disappeared, their destination had arrived, and by the time the speckled, star lit sky was in its glory, they were knocking softly against an old, rusty, metal door.

"Obi Wan?" Beru called softly, "Let us in!"

Owen tapped his fingers lightly against the surface again. His heart was in his throat, but this time for very different reasons. Part fear, part pride, and part hope quelled up inside him and as he touched his knuckles to the rust again he nearly let out a cry as Obi Wan Kenobi opened the door - a wary smile on his now weathered face.

"Obi Wan," Beru said, proving herself once again to be the diplomat of the two, "How good to see you!"

Obi Wan stared at them a moment, looking between the soundly asleep Luke and the two dirty and exhausted moisture farmers. He blinked. "Come in, come in!" he told them, "No point standing out in the cold.

* * *

Well, that's it for this little chappie. Sorry if it wasn't quite as good of a quality as the others…

I know it was short - but I sort of figured at this point - anything was better than me banging my head against my desk in attempt to ward off writers block…

It didn't work.

So - Once again - tell me what you thought of it - Any spelling mistakes you feel you need to point out - even flames are welcome because, hey, at least someone took the time to share their feelings.

TBC in the Next chapter.


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